


father mustn't know

by tansypool



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Teen AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 08:45:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1812307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tansypool/pseuds/tansypool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the first time that they've truly done something serious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	father mustn't know

**Author's Note:**

> Modern AU, high school ages. Somewhere around fifteen or sixteen years old.
> 
> NSFW content lasts for a couple of paragraphs at the start.

It’s only the idea that  _Father mustn’t know_ that grounds Cersei to the idea that maybe, they shouldn’t be doing this, maybe it’s wrong.

She thinks she should force it from her mind, but she loses all sight of it and everything is Jaime - his lips against hers, his hand on her ass, his fingers between her legs, nudging them wider apart; she blindly reaches to pull at buttons and force the clothes from his body, but only manages to undo a button on his shirt before he has pulled everything from both of their lower bodies.

His cock is already hard when she reaches for it, and she’s growing wetter by the second, and it’s only then that she finds his hand, slick with her arousal, and uses it to help guide him inside her. It doesn’t hurt as much as she has heard that it does, but his thrusts quickly become more frenetic as his breaths shorten, and he has spent and pulled out before she can adjust to him being inside her.

But of course,  _Father mustn’t know_. She watches him as he rebuttons his shirt, smooths the creases, finds his jeans from where they fell on the floor. When he turns to pick his jeans up, she notices that his shirt is still bunched up where she had been clutching it; she sits upright and beckons for him to come closer, so that she can smooth the creases that he missed.

He leaves her in the mess of her bedsheets a mere moment later, wetness still pooled between her legs and gathering on her sheets.

_You can’t get pregnant your first time, can you?_

—-

She realises when she misses her second period in a row.

Thursdays always end in history, and attendance is never taken, so when the bell rings for class, she sneaks out a back gate to find a bus to the other side of town, so that nobody will see her in the pharmacy.  _It’s nothing. Just a trick. Nothing’s wrong. Nothing’s going to happen._

But she still arrives home an hour later than usual, and Father notices when she walks straight to her room, head high and a blank expression frozen onto her face.

He doesn’t acknowledge her, though, until he barges into her room unannounced, finding her leaning against her bed, legs clutched tight to her chest, sobbing into her knees.

The test is forgotten on the floor beside her, two little pink lines facing up, taunting her. She looks up at Father, reaching to hide it, but it’s too late, and he’s seen it, and he knows.

She expects shouting, and accusations, and interrogation. It’s all planned out in her head -  _it was Robert, it happened one time, he convinced me, he’s been trying all semester, he coerced me, he said he’d stay but he didn’t_. In reality, she wanted nothing to do with him, but anything was easier to explain than the truth, that it was Jaime, that it was only ever Jaime.

Instead, Father sits in front of her, waiting for her sobs to abate slightly. When they do, he softly reaches forward to lift her chin with a finger. She can’t meet his eyes at first, but he doesn’t speak until she does.

"You’re getting rid of it."

Her sobs break out anew.

—-

Less than a week later, it is done. She knows that she should be feeling relieved, that Father didn’t ask questions, that he refuses to speak of it again. As far as he was concerned, nothing had happened. But she feels raw - she feels empty inside, and cannot shake the overwhelming feelings of guilt at the loss.

When they arrive home, Father says nothing. She wanders numbly to her bedroom, ignoring Jaime playing with Tyrion in the lounge room, though he is silently watching her over their little brother’s head.

Her bed is still unmade, left in the disarray of the morning. She’d been sick, and she still isn’t sure if it was anxiety or morning sickness or some combination of the two, mocking her. It hasn’t gone away, and so she collapses onto her bed, curling into herself in some sort of futile defence mechanism.

Jaime finds her still lying on her bed, but she doesn’t acknowledge him as he sits by her feet, and reaches gently for her hand, rubbing circles on the back of it with his thumb. She only realises that she’s still crying when an errant tear runs across the bridge of her nose.

He sits, silently waiting for her to talk; she’s glad that he doesn’t try to pry, as she isn’t sure that she can say anything without her voice cracking.

Finally, she manages to whisper, “He made me get rid of our baby.”

His thumb stills.


End file.
